Naught But Imaginary
by OhMyMaple71
Summary: It's not unusual for children to make up friends to play with, and when Arthur Kirklands young son, Alfred, makes one up, he thinks it's a good thing. A coping mechanism, maybe, or just Alfred returning to being a kid. Either way, it's a good thing, and so is the new start they have: new house, new country, new jobs and schools. But it's history you have to look out for. Human AU.
1. In the Beginning

Naught But Imaginary

Summery: It's not unusual for a six year old to make an imaginary friend. In fact, most children make ones before then, and to Arthur Kirkland, it's a good thing his son's made one, what with his wife dying only a year or so before. It doesn't unnerve him at all, except for the fact that some things about the house seem to have moved around that he doesn't remember moving. But then again, it's possible it's just his imagination acting up again, right?

When 34 year old Arthur Kirkland and his 5 year old son Alfred moved into the two story, modern and semi-recently rebuilt Victorian style house on the hill in a small town in the sprawling landscape of British Columbia, it was for a new start. They both needed one, and when one of Arthur's old friends suggested Albertshire, BC to look into, he just about jumped at the chance.

Arthur himself was used to countryside such as this, but it was the view and the mountains constantly there that had taken his breath,so to speak. It had been the countryside of remote England that he'd grown up in, and London where he'd met his late wife Briar Antstonly, a welcoming and bubbly brunette from Seattle. They'd met over work, her being an interior decorator and him being an architect, and their respective companies had stuck them on a large team of people to design a part of a new suburb being put in.

Fast forward about three years, and the two of them are married and packing up to move to Minnesota, where Arthur can continue his work from home and Briar can set up her own small decor business. And that plan worked out for another few years, the second year of their life in the States bringing about news of Briars' pregnancy, and in July of the following year Alfred is born, with blonde hair like his fathers and the eyes and smile of his mother.

The three remained your picturesque family, with Alfred being four years old when they found out that they were going to have another child.

That dream that the three were oh so very excited about (especially Alfred, who ran about and claimed that he was going to be the best big brother in the history of ever, and protect his little sister or brother like a true hero), never quite came to be. It was a rainy October, with warning for slow driving and the like about due to slick roads that Briar found herself flipped and rolling into a ditch due to a collision with another driver (later found to be drunk) and having been on a back road was not found until the next morning, where she was pronounced to be dead on the scene. As if t weren't crushing enough to the two boys she had back home, it had been her last day of work before maternity leave, and they'd set up a little celebration of sorts in the kitchen.

The next half year of their life was spent trying to get everything back to normal, and to try and live through the grief. As much as Arthur wanted to just curl up under the covers of his bed and sob and sob until he simply couldn't anymore, there wasn't time for tears, and he still had to look after Alfred and make sure he was doing okay. Not to mention he had to somehow work his job in some way, which was quickly slipping through his fingers amid the torrent of other things.

In late June of the new year, Arthur decided he would listen to the advice of some of his concerned friends and look for somewhere else to live, to get out of the house the held far too many memories then he needed to think of. Quitting his quickly slipping job, the Englishman waited only for Alfred to have his last birthday party with some of his friends before taking him and moving them both up to British Columbia, a place he always admired. One Briar always had liked too, ow that he thought of it. There they moved into the fairly simple house, with plans to start anew. Arthur pursued his ages old interest in writing, and the few drafts he'd had from years ago seemed well liked by the publishers he sent them in to.

Alfred seemed to have settled in well to the changes, his smiling and constantly excited, energetic self returning full force after a small bout of jet-lag. They both made the changes work, and it seemed that all would be well for them.

Alfred met a few of the children in the nearby neighborhood, and often would play with them under Arthurs' watchful eye from the back window of their home. Alfred never made any close bonds with the majority of them, only two seeming to occupy his interest for a long period of time. Although many would find that strange for a child as energetic as Alfred was, Arthur didn't take much time to question the scenario. The boy had just lost both his mother and younger sibling barely a year before, and the two boys, (Kiwi and Toronto, was it?) were nice enough, their parents good company. It wasn't until a few months later that Arthur began to question things around the house, what with their seemingly strange movements.


	2. Mattie

It started on a day that really was just as much like any other day, Arthur waking up with the sun as he usually did, and Alfred sleeping in until nearly 8:30 before he was up. Arthur was already at the table, dressed and ready although he had nowhere to go that day, what with not having an out of home occupation and it still being summer vacation for Alfred in Kindergarten. Having been alternating between skimming the pages of the local newspaper and sipping his tea, the Brit heard something slightly odd from upstairs, where his son was drowsy from waking up a few minutes prior and from the sounds of it brushing his teeth. Although it wasn't odd for Alfred to make random sounds to amuse himself when his father wasn't in the room, it sounded like the lad was carrying on a conversation with someone, even though Arthur knew for a fact that there was no one else in the house but himself and his six year old son.

It worried him all the same though, so after listening for only a minute or so more, he set his cup of tea down and started towards the stairs. Heading up them he took a right and went down the hallway there until he reached the upstairs bathroom that the gurgled voice of Alfred's was coming from. Giving a slight knock on the door before pushing it open, the blonde granted a small smile of amusement to show at the sight. Standing on a stool so he could reach the sink was Alfred, who although having a mouth full of toothpaste and a toothbrush in one side of his mouth, was somehow able to garble some words out, glancing every so often over to his left side as if he were talking to someone. He didn't seem to notice his father standing there, and Arthur was content to watch on in an amused silence, original intentions for leaving his tea forgotten.

Leaning forwards to spit out the toothpaste foam, and to take a moment to rinse his toothbrush out, the little blonde continued on his conversation. "And Ivan—I told you about him, right Mattie? The creepy tall kid with the weird talking."

"Yeah, I knew I told you about him! But anyway, he can throw the ball really high, and I mean really high! It was a good thing though that I was on his team, because no one else can throw as high as he can. I mean, I could if I wanted but-"

Here his words become garbled again by the toothbrush, and it also seemed that after he took it out of his mouth and put it back into the cup he stored it in, he still hadn't noticed his father watching, amused at his sons' behavior.

It was when Alfred was pushing his small stool back against the far wall again that he stopped his conversation, head tilting as he looked to his right now. "Huh? Mattie, did you just say that someone was watching me?" Arthur took this as his cue to straighten up from his leaning position on the doorframe, smiling still as the younger blonde turned and gave a sharp giggle of laughter.

"Daddy!"

Turning his head once again, Alfred sent a questioning look to the air to his right.

"Why didn't you tell me it was Daddy, Mattie? You scared me!"

And with that, the little one sped over to his father enveloping his legs into a hug as Arthur bent down to scoop him up into a large spinning hug, propping him at his hip for a moment, before setting him down again. That was an old habit, one he hadn't quite gotten out of when he hugged his son like that.

Alfred didn't seem to have minded, though, and simply giggle again, hugging his legs once more when he was set down before sending a grin up to him.

"Daddy, what are we having for breakfast?"

At this, the Brit laughed lightly, giving a light shrug at his son. Despite what some would say, he could actually cook fairly well. Just not large meals. Or really anything beyond basic meals. But he _could_ cook.

"Well, what do you want to eat?"

At the return question, the little boy paused, holding a hand up to his father, as if to tell him to wait a moment, and turned to his left, conferring in a whispered voice as if somebody was there.

Arthur, finding this rather curious, was about to interrupt the young blonde to question it, before stopping as his son turned back to him, large grin on his face.

"Eggs, please!"

"Alright then, eggs it is!"

Alfred, always the energetic little boy, took off running right away, racing to get down the stairs and to the table so he could have breakfast. Arthur, on the other hand, simply walked briskly, used to it.

Just as Alfred was probably used to being told not to run on the stairs, although he rarely had time to _not_ run when he was going that fast.

It was when Arthur was beginning to clear up the dishes, a half hour or so later that he remembered what he had been wanting to ask Alfred in the bathroom. Filling the sink up with water, Alfred pulling a chair over to 'help' (read splash some water about, and keep talking with his dad) had been watching, though he was quiet through the water filling, as was usual.

"Alfred," Glancing over to his son, to make sure he had his attention, Arthur continued.

"Who were you talking to in the bathroom this morning?"

At this, Alfred brightened more, and pointed back to the table, directly at one of the chairs not usually used.

"Mattie. I was talkin' to Mattie."

Raising a (rather bushy) blonde eyebrow to this, the Brit decided to question the four year old more, curious about this 'Mattie' his son had come up with.

"Mattie? Is he one of your friends?"

Alfred nodded at this, pointing to the chair once again. He couldn't seem to see why his father couldn't see the other blonde boy sitting in the chair, legs swinging and hair falling in his face.

"Mattie? He's my bestest friend, Daddy!"

"Bestest friend, hm? Where does Mattie live, then?"

"In the spare room. He says it used to be his room, before it got all changed around. He's sitting at the table now, see?"

And so Arthur did turn to look, turning the tap off as he did so, at the circular kitchen table that took the part of the kitchen, if only to at least humour his son.

And he really wasn't surprised when he saw nobody at the table, even if Alfred's eyes locked onto thin air. Arthur was logical after all, and wouldn't be surprised if this was the start to something many young children had- imaginary friends.

* * *

Alright so, I found that copy and pasting to update works better then just uploading the document! Plus, it doesn't mess with my spacing.

Anyways, this is all based off an idea a friend of mine and I had late one night, and I sort of stared writing on it. Not too sure how many chapters this will have, but I do have it planned out, although not at all written yet, which is a bad habit. Updates will in no way be regular, simply because my writing motivation is as moody as a cat dunked in water.


	3. Memoirs

Chapter 3: Memoirs

If you were to go to the local library, and look into the old newspapers held there, you'd find that the old house located on 24 Sussex Drive had been there for nearly a century. It went from a family farm to a bakery shop, to a town home and even an estate for a lord, at one point. Of course, it was rebuilt and modernized at different points in its time, though the most known rebuild would have been in 1912, when it was built again from the ground up after a fire. Fires were not uncommon, as the owner at the time had been a baker, though as careful as he was it's hard not to let little bits of wood catch and smoulder a bit. That wasn't what made it well known in press for a time, but it was the fact that there was a death involved in it. Little Matthew Williams, the bakers son and a quiet, likable boy had been helping his father take bread into the small pantry they used as a storeroom that morning. On his way with an armful of loaves, one had remained unnoticeable to the seven year old as it slipped out of his bundle, and lodged itself halfway into the firewood bin, and halfway into the fire. Although it was unknown how it had caught, the bread had been the halfway point that set the wood bin aflame, in turn conveying it to the wooden floors and catching at the walls. Both the baker and Matthew had been unaware of this, with the baker calling back that he was going to be setting the stall outside for business, and Matthew giving a call back of assurance that he'd be joining his father soon.

It should be known that he never did. When the seven year old was in the storeroom, the old and warped door that was common to closing and jamming against its frame decided that yes, now would be a good idea to do what it did best, trapping the young Canadian inside.

Needless to say, those forces who were set to put out fires did not put it out in time.

oOoOoOo-OoOoOoO-oOoOoO-oOoOo-oOoOoOo-oOoOoOoOoO-

That was simply a trivial fact now, and though fires didn't go over quite well with Matthew now, he seemed to have adjusted to the fact that he simply couldn't be seen by many people. Of course, in the beginning, he had been constantly scared. Paranoid. All he'd wanted was for his father to come back, come back and open the door, scoop him up into a big hug and smell like bread and apologize for not getting back before now. In the times he'd spent adjusting he'd even made stories about it, and about what his father would say, and who he'd have been haggling prices with. Even as everything changed around him he imagined it.

It wasn't until nearly four decades later, when two little girls who looked nothing alike yet were the closest of sisters, started talking to him did Matthew let go of those ideas. They were his first friends after it all, and he'd grown close to them, both of them, Angelique and Melody, he believed their names had been. And they'd all played together a lot, and Matthew had asked questions about his house and his father, but the girls hadn't had any idea. They suggested asking their Daddy, because he knew a lot, but he'd never heard or seen Matthew, and neither of the girls were going to ask.

And so their friendship had grown, until Melody turned 10, and didn't talk to him anymore. Angelique stopped soon after, and she told him it was because her sister called it stupid to talk to imaginary friends. But Matthew wasn't imaginary! Or, he didn't think he was, anyway. Matthew still tagged along with the two around the house, even if neither of them talked to him anymore. Eventually the girls grew up, and let for college. Life went on. Matthew went back to ideas, but the image of his father just didn't appear as easily as it had before he had met Angelique and Melody.

Through the years a few other children came and went, though after a few years they _always_ stopped talking to him and left. Matthew was confused and frustrated about it all, and it made him sad.

Why were his friends leaving him? Why were they growing up without him? Why was he called imaginary? He wasn't imaginary! He was _Matthew_ and _Matthew_ was not imaginary!

Right?

oOoOoOo-OoOoOoO-oOoOoO-oOoOo-oOoOoOo-oOoOoOoOoO-

After a while though, the house stayed empty, and Matthew was lonelier than he was even when his friends grew up and left. And then, Alfred had come. Alfred was loud and excitable and that had scared Matthew at first.

He'd hidden behind corners and in closets, watching, because he was too scared and shy to say hello. Or, he didn't until it came to bedtime, in about the second week that Alfred had been living in his house.

Alfred had been excitedly jumping about in his pyjamas, teeth all brushed and stuffed animal (a grey and soft bunny, given to him for Easter and having been with Alfred for as long as he could remember) in hand. Really he had been waiting for bedtime, which most children his age would hate, but Alfred loved it deeply. His Daddy told the absolute bestest in the _world_ stories, all full of dragons and pirates and faeries (okay so maybe faeries weren't only for girls) and cowboys! And every night when his Daddy came to tuck him in, Alfred got a story told to him, and therefore bedtime meant storytime, and storytime was the best part of any day. Not to disgrace that sometimes his Daddy would read to him from books in the day time, but bedtime stories were the best if only because they were made up as they went, with any and all of Alfred's ideas worked in at some point or another.

And so, when Alfred's father finally walked in the door and laughed at the dance Alfred was doing, shooing him into bed where he would be tucked in, Matthew peered into the doorway. The little ghost had heard this going on every night, and it had made him curious. Curious enough that he'd risk being seen, or the possibility of being seen, just to figure out what it was. Alfred had been too wrapped up in the beginning of his father's story to notice the small figure peering in the doorframe. And the same when that figure kept appearing at the doorframe every night afterwards.

It was nearly a week later, when Matthew had begun getting brave enough to come and sit on the carpet by the bed, when Alfred had noticed the other little boy in his room. That very night, after his dad had added a little boy into the story (Alfred had pointed it out, but Matthew hadn't minded being in the story) and finished up for the night, Alfred crawled out of bed, and stopped the other by the half closed door, starting a conversation where they'd both find a new friend.

oOoOoOo-OoOoOoO-oOoOoO-oOoOo-oOoOoOo-oOoOoOoOoO-

Matthew reflected on all of this from his corner seat at the breakfast table, watching his friend eat and clean up. Matthew would have liked to eat, but he just wasn't hungry anymore, and in the time he'd been raised, eating when you weren't hungry was a stupid thing to do. So instead he watched.

Matthew liked Alfred. Alfred was sunny and bright and he was his bestest friend and only a year younger than Matthew himself was. And Matthew liked Arthur too, he was Alfred's daddy. Arthur was nice, and always made sure there was room for Matthew at the table and during story time and everything, plus he talked to him just like he talked to Alfred, even if he couldn't see him, and probably thought he was imaginary. Even if Arthur did think he was imaginary, Matthew liked him.

There were two other boys who sometimes came over to play with Alfred and him, and Matthew liked them both as well, even if Toris wasn't good at English and Matthew felt sad for him. Kiku was quiet too, so Matthew liked him a lot, because he was just like he used to be.

A blonde man like to come over too. He'd sit at the table and have something called coffee with Arthur, and he seemed nice. He said his name was Francis, and Matthew was sure he'd seen him before, because once when Alfred had been introduced to him by his father, the blonde man had asked who the other boy was.

In general though, Matthew thought, as Alfred called him out to go play in the garden with him, Matthew liked his house and the people who lived in it right now.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoo

**Hey! So, thank you to anyobody who's put up with my likely crappy writing so far, I hope you're enjoying this, and also as it was pointed out (props to you, Cay for letting me know about this) in the previous chapter it addresses Alfred as both six and four! I would like to clear up any confusion and state that Alfred is, in fact, 6. And Matthew's 7. So, yeah, any confusion is cleared up, if you have any other question don't be afraid to shoot me a message or a review! (those are _always_ appreciated, and give me motivation to write!)**


	4. Author's Note

Hey!

So, I haven't updated or really touched this story in ages, and I didn't have a very large base of people who had read it anyway, but either way, I'd like to apologize.

I do still hope to finish this story, because the idea is still something I have in mind- in fact, I have an idea of the next chapter already, I just...haven't much had the motivation to write it, I suppose.

So, I hope to get it done and up before the new year, but if I don't, know I haven't left this to just rot, and despite how long it's been sitting, I do still plan on finishing it!

All the same, happy holidays to anyone still reading, and I hope 2015 brings so much more than 2014 may have to you and yours!

\- OhMyMaple


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